


Wildfire Run

by keraunoscopia



Category: Station 19 (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dangerous Situations, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Natural Disasters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-26 06:45:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16676578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keraunoscopia/pseuds/keraunoscopia
Summary: This is why she’d practiced so many times, this was what she was afraid of. There’s something about Chief Ripley, Lucas, that scrambles her words, somewhere between her brain and her mouth. She knows what she wants to say, but then he smiles, or steps a little closer, looks at her with those soft eyes, and everything jumbles together. “I want to volunteer,” she says finally, matter of factly. And there’s a sort of pregnant pause, and she realizes she hasn’t quite said everything.





	Wildfire Run

Vic twists her hands in her lap as she sits in the waiting room outside of Chief Ripley’s office down at headquarters. She can’t remember the last time she was in this building. She can’t remember the last time she felt so sick to her stomach, but she’s pretty sure it was in the third grade, when she had gotten sent to the principal’s office for punching Zach Burke because he had made fun of her hair. 

She’s not in trouble now, at least she doesn’t think she is, given that she’s the one who asked for this meeting, but given their past interactions, there’s no way to know he won’t suddenly decide her insubordination was unacceptable. Except that the insubordination had continued in a decidedly different, substantially less professional manner, and Chief Ripley had been a willing participant. But her stomach churns anyway, because this is different. This isn’t professional really, but it’s not personal either, and somehow it’s both in the worst ways. 

“Hughes?” Lucas looks surprised when he steps out of his office, presumably to meet her. And she’d called ahead, but she’d only talked to his secretary, so Vic figures he must not have bothered to ask about with whom the meeting was. She stands, immediately at attention, sort of fumbling with the jacket she has clasped in her hands, like she doesn’t know what to do with it but also doesn’t want her hands empty. 

“Chief,” Vic nods, and follows as he gestures through the door into his office. It strikes her, that she’s never seen his office before, never been in this room. Somehow it looks exactly like she expected, dark wood tones, dignified, but sparse. There’s no nick nacks or personal touches, no offered insight to who he is as a person outside of work. If she hadn’t seen it herself, Vic thinks, she’s not sure she would actually believe that Chief Ripley existed outside of work, outside of the fire department. 

He gestures to the empty chair as he settles behind his desk, “to what do I owe this visit?” he asks with an eyebrow raised. She doesn’t blame him for the curiosity; she’s sure that he’s trying to figure out what this is, if its professional or personal, if she’s crossing boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed, despite everything that’s already happened. 

“Sorry, I wanted to say it in person,” Vic explains, “Captain Sullivan said I needed your permission before he’d sign off on it.” 

That has his curiosity piqued further, she realizes. He leans forward a little, hands folded across the desk. Vic isn’t sure how he always manages to look so poised, so put together, even behind closed doors, with her, his shoulders are squared, back straight. It almost, almost makes her lose her train of thought, but she’s practiced this in the mirror too many times to mess up. 

“I know its a bad time, what with Sullivan and Herrera benched for injuries, but I really feel like I have to do this,” she explains, her tone straying a little too casual, a little too friendly. “Its okay if it’s a no, I’ll understand, I know I’m an asset, that we’re down to only a few but I know it’s the right thing for me, and it’s not permanent.”

“Hughes,” he raises an eyebrow to interrupt her verbal torrent. “Victoria,” he corrects, voice gentle, eyes softer, and Vic can feel herself melting a little bit in the chair, trying hard not to show how affected she is just by his voice, because no one calls her that, no one bothers with her full name, but she loves it, a little too much. “You haven’t actually told me what you’re asking for,” he explains, the corners of his mouth pulling like he’s trying not to smile at her. 

“Oh,” Vic replies quickly, letting out a short, awkward laugh, “right, I,” she can feel the heat rising on her cheeks. This is why she’d practiced so many times, this was what she was afraid of. There’s something about Chief Ripley, Lucas, that scrambles her words, somewhere between her brain and her mouth. She knows what she wants to say, but then he smiles, or steps a little closer, looks at her with those soft eyes, and everything jumbles together. “I want to volunteer,” she says finally, matter of factly. And there’s a sort of pregnant pause, and she realizes she hasn’t quite said everything still, “to go to California. To help with the wildfires. I already contacted a friend of mine out there, they need people.”

Lucas has his lips pursed, jaw set. He says nothing, and Vic’s face falls a little, surprised by the total lack of response. 

“I’m people,” she clarifies unhelpfully. 

Lucas lifts his head, chin up, “are you just asking for paid leave?”

Vic furrows her brow, “paid, or unpaid. I’d mostly just like to know I’ll have a job at 19 when I come back.” 

Lucas nods, looking down at the stack of papers on his desk, picking up a pencil. _If she comes back._ He doesn’t say it aloud, but he can’t keep the thought from crossing his mind. “I’ll sign the paperwork, just have Captain Sullivan send it over,” he replies curtly, opening one of the files. 

“Oh. Okay. Thank you,” Vic replies, acutely aware of the shift in the room. The lighthearted curiosity, the soft sincerity of Lucas’s gaze is gone, and he doesn’t look back up from his desk, even as she stands from the chair, “I’ll just, I’ll,” she points to the door, but Lucas offers nothing but a nod, and she lets herself out, door closing a little more firmly than it should behind her.

Lucas lets out a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping forward the moment the door latches closed, because he knows what he wants to say, and knows that its not his place. They’re professionals, and they’ve slept together, and that makes things fuzzy, and complicated, it makes Lucas’s stomach churn with uncertainty, but this much is still clear. That he can’t ask her not to go, that he can’t tell her to stay. To do otherwise would be an abuse of his position, or an admission he’s not ready to make. Still, his hand clenches down on the pencil so hard it snaps, and he tosses the broken pieces down on his desk. 

It’s nearly four hours later when Lucas finally gets up from his desk, the revolving door of meetings at a close, and headquarters is quiet beyond his office door. He glances at the clock over his door and gathers his jacket off of the back of his chair. If he’s done his calculation right, if none of the shifts changed, or ran over, if there were no calls still out, then Vic is on her way back to her apartment. 

He pauses at the car door, pulls his phone out of his pocket, and frowns, unsure whether he ought to call, or text, or just show up at her door, but they’re done being professional now, work hours have ended, and Lucas knows he has to say what he couldn’t before. 

He sighs, and tucks his phone into his pocket, and the whole drive over to her apartment his hands grip at the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles blanch bright white, charred landscapes creeping into his peripheral vision, a sort of illusory inferno. He, perhaps better than anyone, knows the danger she’ll be facing if she leaves. 

Lucas climbs the few steps to the front door, and knocks on the solid wood with the back of his knuckles, heavy handed, determined. But even before the door can swing open, Lucas can feel his resolve fading away. He wants to ask her not to go, wants to tell her that it’s too dangerous, more so than what they face on a daily basis, that forest fires are more unpredictable, more wild, that if she’s not careful they can swallow her whole. But instead she opens the door, and pulls him aside, and he lets her peel off layer after layer, hands on his skin, teeth nipping at his neck. This is what they do, and it’s good, incredible. Lucas traces the curves of her hips, lips parted, pulled back just enough to watch her head tip back against the pillows, neck bared, breath caught in her throat, the deafening roar of silence as she comes. 

And after the haze settles, Lucas can’t bring himself to say what he wants to say. Instead, he trails his fingertips over her shoulder, watches her shiver as he traces down her side. “It’s different you know,” he says softly, and she cocks her head, sleep threatening to take her. “The fires in California. It’s dangerous.” 

“Are you worried about me?” She teases lightly, like its a joke, like its not her life they’re talking about. Her eyes are nearly closed, too much of a strain to keep them open in her lazy, satiated state, and Lucas is almost glad, because he’s sure his face is more transparent than he wants it to be; he’s certain that if she took a moment to actually look, she’d know exactly how he feels about her, and he’s not ready for that. She isn’t either. 

“Of course,” he swallows the lump in his throat, and the rest of what he wants to say along with it.


End file.
